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Outside of the endless sea of the mediocre, faceless nobodies, there are only two different types of motherfuckers in the world. People who start shit and think they are tough. And people who have trained and KNOW they are strong.
You see this shit every day. On the street, in bars, in workplaces... The "tough-guy" pretenders. They talk loud, they wear flashy clothing and jewelry, they drive souped-up cars. All this flashy garbage that is supposed to say "Don't fuck with me."
They walk with a swagger. They stomp and strut with a mean face on. They hang out with their equally-obnoxious friends. They are SO QUICK to start shit. SO QUICK to try to prove how fucking tough they are. They say things like "Yeah, motherfucker, keep walking, pussy! I'll fuck you up, bitch!" and so on and so forth.
They may go to the gym, even YOUR gym... But they don't train. They just go to do a few curls and bench presses and try to be intimidating to other people. They only do exercises that won't compromise their carefully-manicured image of toughness.
Then there are the people who DO train. Who earned their respect and their scars through months and years of training. Who have poured out gallons of sweat and oozed their blood on the mats and canvas floors. This is a completely different animal.
They are calm and relaxed. They walk with an ease of intention. They rarely look irritated or angry in public for no reason. They wear whatever they feel like wearing, whatever is comfortable.
Why?
Because they don't need a flashy car, or clothes or jewelry. They don't need to stand around places and try to intimidate others. They don't need a crew of their friends to parrot everything they say and "back them up". Because underneath the calm demeanor you can see, there is a terrifying power ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice....
... It is the calm coiled power of 1,000,000 punches thrown in practice against a bag or another person. The speed and force of 500,000 kicks, each of them improving on the one before it. The thunderous impact of the 250,000 knees and elbows smashed into the target with murderous intent.
It all screams one thing impossibly louder than all of the fake posturing and shit-talking of the phony-tough...
...It screams "I could kill you".
So, I was in a rotten mood for most of the day (don't ask!) and I decided to have a little fun at someone's expense.
I went jogging and ran by the park along the bike path. It was about 100 degrees today, so I went in to the public bathroom to clean up from the sweat.
I saw a man's feet sticking out from underneath the door of the farthest stall in the restroom and there was an atrocious smell. So, I naturally I assumed he was taking a really vicious shit. Then my evil mind is already at work.... I got really quiet and let everything die down. Other than the occasional "plop" and a little grunting from behind the stall door, it was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop in this restroom.
Then I let out this insanely loud and savage war cry and flung myself against the door as hard as possible, causing a thunderous "BANG" to resonate through the restroom! I bet that guy has not ever been so scared in his life since he screamed "WHAT THE FUCK?!" and I heard him slam into the back of the wall. Then I heard him try to stand up and fumbling with his pants because his belt buckle was making noise.
I was already long gone before he made it out of the stall.
STOP!
Yes, you. Stop.
Are you a sheep?
Do you follow your friends’ trends, listen to their music and agree with everything they like?
If the answer is yes, then you are a sheep! If you are happy like this, stop reading here and move along with your shallow, self-absorbed life.....
....If you are still reading, either you are not a sheep or you are a sheep that wants help. In that case, listen up, I will only say this once....
My name is "Wolf", and I eat sheep.
What does that mean, you ask? That means, I enjoy breaking down other’s perceptions. I really like hurting feelings and offending people. Because if you are offended by something someone says, then you look at it harder. And in turn, you look at yourself in the process.
I will not sugar-coat this message, it needs to be said in as raw and emotional a way as I can....
STOP BLINDLY FOLLOWING THE HERD!
Herd mentality is what has made you this way. But your subconscious mind says, "If we think alike and act alike and look alike, there is safety in numbers." Yes, if you are destined to be the prey.
And the herd will turn on you if you are even a little different. Look at nature, the predators pick off the slow and the weak from the herd. While the herd run away, those deemed lesser are preyed upon.
What if you walked away from the rest of the sheep? What if you walked away from the herd to find out that there is no predator, there is only you?
And then, you are alone in the darkness. Only without the outside influence of the media, or fashion or television, does the truth become clear.
Then you are the predator. You are the one who stands and looks down upon the rest of the world. You are the one who is different and rightly so, for predators obey only their own hearts, and not those of the group.
Then, you also, are the "Wolf". Welcome to the pack.
Here, we do not think alike, dress alike or look alike. We may not always agree on many topics, and that is good, for we are not the sheep.
But, there is respect among the predators and that is what binds us together. A bond, forged by knowledge and faith in ourselves that is stronger than anything the sheep can offer you.
You are the "Wolf". Welcome to our pack.
Welcome home.
If you are a friend of mine, you would do well to read this....
I usually avoid this topic like the plague, since no matter who I wanted to explain it to, I doubted that they would "get it". But since someone had enough balls to ask me about it and I am tired of dodging the issue, here is my first and only explanation.
The topic is "Who is Wolf and why does he exist?" Ok here it goes....
A long time ago, I was weak. I was always smaller than people my age and got bullied. I was angry with life in general. One day, as I was being picked on and pushed around, I reached my boiling point. Something in my mind fractured and someone else was controlling me. And as I sat on top of this kid’s chest pounding his face into mush with my fists, all I can remember is someone was laughing. Later, with fear in their eyes, my friends told me that I was the one laughing.
No one understood, they all thought I was just "going through a phase." They were only half-right, John was the phase.
Wolf is quite simply, the other side of me. The Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. My own personal Tyler Durden. The best definition of my situation is this: John is Clark Kent. Like Clark Kent; John is clumsy, he smiled and waves when you cut him off in traffic, and he is good-natured and forgiving.... Wolf is Superman; he is fearless, if you cut him off in traffic, you had better not stop. Wolf never forgives and has an temper that borders on homicidal.
But most importantly, John is a disguise. A mask that I wear when I have to go out in public.
Superman uses the persona of Clark Kent to "blend in" with everyone else. He did not become Superman, he was born Superman. He became Clark Kent to hide who he really was to the world. You see, I am not John. I never was. John is simply the name my disguise uses. I am, and always have been, Wolf.
So, keep smiling and saying "how civilized and nice" I have become. John will smile back and be gracious. Just realize, underneath the mask, I am baring my fangs.
This is the first and only explanation I ever intend to give concerning myself. I hope this provides all of you with some insight into me.
- Wolf
It is rare that I allow anyone to see a human emotion from me. Most of the time, what you get out of me is either sarcastic, contempt, rage or indifference. However, very rarely, I show that I am capable of more than simple disgust toward the rest of humanity... This is a one-time deal. Do NOT ever expect to see such a thing from me again.
Anyone who has studied psychology will tell you that anger is never a primary emotion, it is a secondary feeling. A defense mechanism created either to mask the first emotion or to inspire action instead of inaction. One never gets angry without having first experienced some form of loss, pain or injustice against them. Knowing this, now you will begin to understand more clearly why I react the way I do and behave in the manner that you see.
Many times I am seen as the worst kind of person. There are people in my past and my present who honestly believe me to be devoid of any compassion, kindness or decency. Nothing is further from the truth. In fact, I am very capable of nobility and acts of selflessness. These are the things that I keep hidden deep inside of me. I don't want anyone to ever see what I truly am....
I am not a monster.
I am not a sociopath.
I am not a self-centered, ruthless and sadistic demon.
...I am just tired of being hurt by people. I am tired of feeling alone.
I don't think before I act. Never think. Never EVER fucking think about things! Because when I think, I realize just how screwed up my life really is. I realize that I don't know how I got where I am, I don't know where I'm headed and I don't know what to do to fix that.
I want you, the reader, to close your eyes and do this exercise immediately after you read this paragraph: Imagine the darkest, blackest place you can. A literal void where no light can penetrate. There is nothing in this place but you. You have no light. You have no doors or windows to leave. It stretches on for eternity. No matter where you go or how far you walk, it does not end. You are trapped here with only your thoughts and memories as your company for the rest of your life....
...Maddening, isn't it? This is what it feels like to be me most days. That no matter what I do or say, that there is no escape.
This is the reason I am so angry and malicious to people on the outside. Because I have learned to accept my isolation. I learned how to use my loneliness to give me strength. That is why I no longer show anyone how I feel. If someone tried to care for me or love me, they would strip me of my shield. I would no longer have my strength and I could be could hurt again.
As the "hated monster", I am invulnerable. I have an absolute defense against everything and anyone that the world could ever throw at me. But if I ever let anyone in again, I would be just another human with the same weaknesses as everyone else. Simply put, I feed off of everyone's hatred... Love? Well, to use an analogy; love shown to me would be like Kryptonite against Superman.
The fact of the matter is this: I wish I hated the world half as much as I hate myself. It would be easier to walk around completely indifferent to everyone. But I can't hate everyone, I have tried. I still have some shred of humanity left and it is slowly eating away at me. I want to love, and I want to be loved.... I just don't know how to.
I am struggling. A lot. And sometimes when I say that "I am okay.", I just want someone to look me in the eyes and tell me, "No. I know you aren't."
This is the first, and the last, time you will ever read anything like this from me again. It just needed to be said, and I don't think I can go through saying it again.
But now you know.
- Wolf
This was something I had written once when asked "What does it feel like to be a fighter?" Since I am (for the most part), retired from actively fighting, I thought I would publish it here. I hope you enjoy the read as you gain a rare look through my eyes inside a fight.
Critics have called it a “blood-sport” and “human cock-fighting”. However, Mixed Martial Arts remains not only a test of skill and endurance, but an essential part of human character-building and quest for the ultimate in physical excellence. The mixture of intense pain and pleasure felt through pushing yourself cannot be duplicated or rationalized, it can only be lived. Further, the emotions and feelings experienced during an MMA fight far exceed any other form of competition I have ever known.
As my fatigued body slumped backwards against the cage wall, the cold rubber-coated fencing only gives slightly against my weight. The cold and clammy steel is a welcome feeling. Every fiber of my body is on fire with exhaustion and the sweat is pouring down my limbs in streams of lava. My trainers try to fan my body and pour ice-cold water over my back. It is no use, I am rapidly overheating. My eyes are burning, no doubt from the sweat that has flowed into them for the last 5 minutes of furious combat. Every ragged breath I take causes my lungs to be scorched in a burning heat. There is no escape from the oppressive heat within this cage. This must be what Hell itself feels like to the damned.
Everything hurts now, my trainer’s voice is a sledgehammer of sound pounding against my ears. I have no idea what he is saying or of his instructions to me. The waves of noise enveloping everything from the crowd in attendance drown out any possibility of comprehending him. I taste an overwhelming sensation of warm copper and salt. As he squirts water into my mouth, I realize that the coppery taste is my own blood streaming from my nose. I exhale sharply, trying desperately to shed some of the heat from my core and a fine crimson mist sprays over my chest. It is then that my skull begins to lodge its own protest. It reminds me that the jaw’s hinge was not designed for traumatic impact and my skull’s dull constant throbbing is doing its absolute best to convince me of this.
I am finished, the exhaustion has overcome me when I see it. Across twenty feet of sweat and blood-stained canvas, my eyes see my opponent. He is slumped against the cage, his trainers are feverishly trying to cool his body down as well. I watch his chest heaving for precious air, he is gasping in a combination of agony, overwhelming heat and fatigue. Our eyes meet and he looks down, refusing to meet my gaze. I know now that he is feeling every single thing that I have, plus one another that I have not experienced…. He is scared. My adversary’s confidence is shaken and we both realize that he cannot defeat me. He has used the hardest and most savage strikes in his arsenal and I still remain standing and unbroken.
The pain, heat and exhaustion are gone now. I may still have them, but I no longer notice them. My adrenaline has taken over, my eyes dilate and my fists clench within their leather-wrapped shells. Without conscious effort, my lips curl into a sneer, a low and primal growl escaped from somewhere deep within my chest. The predator inside my heart has just woken, and he feels none of the physical limits that I had. A savage grin draws over my face and I step forward, no longer leaning on the cold chain-link fencing behind me.
My trainer is still screaming instructions to me and I still do not hear him, but now it is for a different reason. The beast inside of me roars back to life and I know that within the next two minutes, my opponent’s bloodied and battered form will be laying at my feet. This victory is already mine. As the horn sounds to signal the release of the predator, I meet his eyes once more and flash a grin towards him. My God, how I love this! It’s time for the beast to claim his prey. It’s time to show everyone in attendance why I am a fighter.
Gentlemen, I invite you to follow in my footsteps and reclaim your backbone. (Ladies are welcome to read along and laugh, of course!) This is a true story from the life of Wolf.
One evening several years ago, my (now EX) wife and I were getting into bed. Well, as the passion starts to heat up, she stops and abruptly says, "I don't feel like it. I just want you to hold me." Naturally, my response was "WHAT?!? What the Hell was THAT about?"
So the ex says the words that EVERY man on the planet dreads to hear, "You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman enough for me to satisfy your physical needs as a man."
She responded to my puzzled and confused look by saying, "Can't you just love me for who I am and not what I do for you in the bedroom?"
Realizing that, once again, Wolf was NOT getting any action, I went to sleep.
The very next day I decided to take the entire day off of work to spend time with my ( now EX) wife. We went out to a very nice lunch and then went shopping at one of her favorite stores. I walked around with her very patiently as she tried on several different and very expensive outfits.
She couldn't decide which one she liked better, so I told her we'd "just get them all." Then she wanted new shoes to match the new clothes and I said, "Lets get a pair for each outfit."
We next went to the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of diamond earrings. The woman was ecstatic, she must have thought Wolf finally lost his mind and she was going to take full advantage of the opportunity! I think she may have been testing me because she asked for a diamond tennis bracelet and she doesn't even know how to play tennis.
I think it really threw her off when I said, "Whatever you want, dear." She was almost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement. Grinning from ear to ear, she finally said, "I thnk this is all. Let's go check out."
...I could hardly contain my joy when I responded with "No. I don't feel like it." Her face went blank as her jaw dropped and she shrieked "WHAT?!?"
I then pulled the trigger and said it, "I just wanted you to hold this stuff for a while. You're just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me to satisfy your shopping needs as a woman."
And just then, as the realization of what I had done hit her and I watched the rage building in her eyes, I added "Why can't you love me for who I am and not the things I buy you?"
Well, we never had sex again and we ended up getting divorced later.... but at least that bitch knows that I'm smarter than her!
